


Twisted Up When I'm Twisted With You

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4x1, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Phone Sex, Romance, Secret Relationship, Smut, Sneaking Around, kinda got inspired by Friends and just ran with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4 times Bellamy and Clarke almost get caught in compromising positions during their new secret relationship, and one time they get caught being dorks.</p><p>Loosely inspired by Friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Up When I'm Twisted With You

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Stress has not decreased. At all. So, have another fic :’) Title from Dance Inside by All-American Rejects.

I.  
Clarke spreads her legs wider, tightening her fingers in Bellamy’s hair in a futile attempt to drag him closer. His laugh vibrates into her cunt and she moans unashamedly, trying to grind against his face. But he just shakes his head and draws away, a firm hold on her hips and an infuriating grin curling that talented mouth. She protests and twists her fingers harder into his hair, trying to pull him back. He relents, but resorts to simply dragging his tongue along her outer folds until she nearly sobs and tries to kick him.

“Fuck you Bellamy, come _on”—_ She cuts off in a near-shriek as he closes his mouth over her clit, tongue lashing back and forth over the sensitive nub. Then he backs off again, the bastard.

“I hate you,” she breathes when she can speak again.

He bites the inside of her thigh, not entirely gentle, his rakish grin driving her heart wild. “Do you, though?”

She doesn’t bother answering, just trailing a hand up her belly until she can cup one of her uncovered breasts, sighing at the slight relief it offers. Bellamy makes a noise in the back of his throat, and when she looks up through heavy-lidded eyes he’s rutting against her mattress, desperate for friction. She grins and squeezes her breast. That seems to undo him entirely, and _finally_ he’s burying his face between her legs, his tongue relentlessly fucking her as she chants his name.

She’s just a few proper swipes away from what promises to be a fantastic orgasm when the front door creaks open, then slams shut. Clarke rises to her elbows, nearly falling back as Bellamy increases his efforts with a muffled protest.

“Clarke?”

Bellamy’s head snaps up, and dazed and aroused and irritated all at once. They trade a wide-eyed glance.

“I thought you said Raven wasn’t coming home until later?” He whispers.

“That’s what she told me, I don’t know what—”

“Clarke!” Raven yells, stomping up the stairs per usual. “You here?”

Shit. She definitely saw her bag downstairs. Clarke fumbles for the comforter they’d hastily shoved aside earlier, yanking it over Bellamy’s head with an apologetic look while simultaneously straightening her shirt and lying back down. She has only moments to realize just how precarious her position actually is, splayed out under the covers for Bellamy, and pray that her comforter doesn’t look too suspiciously lumpy, before a few sharp knocks sound on the door. She grabs an extra pillow and holds it to her side just as Raven walks in.

“Hey. I was calling your name, didn’t you hear me?” Raven frowns at her state. “I thought you were working late at the clinic.”

She thinks quickly. “They sent me home. I think I caught something from one of the patients.” They make identical faces.

“That sucks. I’ll kick his ass. Or hers.”

Clarke laughs, then regrets it when she bumps up against Bellamy’s mouth, his stubble grazing her skin and nearly making her cross-eyed. Raven is thankfully preoccupied with her phone—she finds out why a second later when her friend turns the screen towards her.

“Remember this place we got takeout from a couple weeks ago? They do great hot and sour soup. Let’s order out from there. Invite Blake junior and watch some bad movies.” 

Clarke smiles even as her heart falls. She and Bellamy had a date tonight—not that any of their friends actually knew that, seeing as they didn’t even know they were together. That’s kind of what happens when you sleep with your best friend’s brother at said friend’s wedding and then realize you kind of want to keep sleeping with him, and more.

It hadn't been intentional to keep it a secret at first, but… things were going well. _Really_ well. And yeah, sneaking around was part of the fun, but most of it came from a deeper-rooted thrill that they'd somehow found their love right beside them. For now, they were both perfectly happy doing things their way. Even if it did lead to moments like this.

Bellamy’s fingers stroke her hip, soothing, because of course he knows where her mind is. This time the smile that covers her features is genuine.

“That sounds great. Count me in.” She fakes a yawn. “I think I’m gonna rest a bit longer though. See if I can sleep it off. I’ll take something with dinner if I still don’t feel well.”

Raven nods. “I’ll be downstairs. Sinclair gave me more feedback on my thesis.” Her friend rolls her eyes and heads for the door. Clarke’s legs are starting to ache from her current position and the sheer effort not to move. Then Bellamy shifts, deliberately dragging his stubble across her skin and sending sparks shooting up her body. She stifles her whimper into the pillow at the last second, but Raven turns around quizzically.

“Cramps,” Clarke shrugs and makes a face, and Raven grimaces.

“Fuck lady parts.”

They share a grin before Raven closes the door behind her, and Clarke sinks down into her mattress in relief. She waits until Raven’s footsteps have reached the first floor, then shoves the covers off Bellamy, brushing a hand over his hair.

“Sorry. You okay?”

He grins, pointedly looking her up and down. “There are worse things.”

“You’re awful.” She bites her lip. “Sorry about date night.”

Bellamy shrugs, the motion shouldering her legs apart even further. “It’s okay. I should probably be focusing on grading essays anyways.” His eyes take on a familiar gleam. “Though,” he drawls, tightening his grasp on her hips, “if I’m not getting dinner, I think it’s only fair I get to have dessert.”

Clarke barely stifles her yelp as he yanks her closer, his mouth descending on her cunt with a renewed eagerness. Grinning stupidly at the ceiling, she blindly reaches out for the extra pillow, because yeah, she’s going to need that.

 

II.  
“Harder,” Clarke orders breathlessly.

Bellamy is in no position to deny her, pressing a hand to her back until she’s folded over the arm of the couch, her cheek on the cushion as he pounds into her over and over. Their harsh sighs and the slap of flesh are all that echo throughout the empty house. He’s pretty sure he won’t last long, but honestly the fact that he didn’t instantly lose his shit at the sight of Clarke bent over the couch with her dress rucked up is pretty much a success in his mind.

He’d been texting her all through that long, long lunch with her mother, detailing the many ways he planned to make her come afterwards. Message after message that left her squirming in her seat while he grinned victoriously over his chipotle chicken wrap. 

Of course, Clarke had gotten her payback. They’d nearly crashed twice on the drive home— both times thanks to her wandering hands and mouth that left his pants tented and mouth sore at every red light. 

Thank god no one had been home. They’d stumbled inside in a mess of limbs, shoving aside clothing instead of actually removing it, desperate to get their hands on each other. Bellamy had, however, been sure to pocket her soaked panties before she tugged his pants down and demanded him to get a move on.

His grip on her shoulder tightens as he feels the familiar pressure coil low in his body. Clarke’s mouth is open, her face awash in pleasure and her fingers clutching the couch cushion as she starts to thrust back against him in earnest. Bellamy curses and loses any semblance of rhythm. 

He’s drawing a hand between her legs when loud voices outside make him stop everything. Clarke groans and wriggles impatiently, but he shushes her, pointing to the door. Alarm crosses her features two seconds later as she registers what’s happening. 

“Shit,” she hisses as he draws out, fumbling to get his pants on haphazardly. “My room,” she whispers, pushing him towards the stairs. Hurrying to the door, she puts the chain lock on and winks at him, gathering her hair into a messy bun atop her head.

As Bellamy rushes upstairs, he hears the radio blare in the kitchen. Then the the door gets stuck on the chain and rattles slightly. Raven knocks, yelling for Clarke. He chuckles to himself at the sound of her harried apologies as she opens the door, greeting Jasper and Monty loudly. Reaching her room, he closes the door behind him as softly as possible, settling down into her favorite armchair with a sigh. 

The lump in his pocket makes him smirk at the thought of her downstairs with nothing on under that dress. His dick is still rock-hard in his briefs, and it’s tempting to just finish himself off right here with the image of her still imprinted on his eyelids. 

His phone buzzes, startling him. Fishing it from his pocket, Bellamy muffles a laugh at her text.

_Don’t you dare._

Not even two minutes later, Clarke shoves inside the room, her gaze latching onto him hungrily. 

“I bought us five minutes,” she says, and sinks onto his lap, taking his mouth in a ruthless kiss. He can only moan agreeably and squeeze her backside, encouraging her to continue. Clarke bites his lower lip as she slides down onto his cock, their relieved sighs mingling in the air. With her hands gripping the cushions behind him, she starts to ride him hard, and it’s not long before he’s yanking down the strap of her dress to envelop a pink nipple in his mouth, sucking harder when she whines into his shoulder and increases her frantic pace. His fingers leave outlines on her waist when he comes, gasping her name, and moments later she clenches down around him, her face tucked against the crook of his neck.

They sit there trying to get their breath back for as long as they dare, dissolving into soft fits of laughter as they try to untangle themselves without making too much noise. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke curls her fingers into his shirt. “Where’s my underwear?”

He grins and pretends to consider. “I dunno, maybe we should look around a bit more… like under your covers?” He picks her up easily, dropping her onto the mattress seconds later and caging her body under his as he leans in for a lingering kiss. Clarke melts against him, making no effort to move until a crash from downstairs brings them back to reality.

He drops his forehead to hers with a rueful laugh. “Guess that’s my cue. Same time tomorrow?”

She winks and leans up to bite his chin. “Don’t you dare stand me up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

III.  
Bellamy switches the light off to check the candles again. Better—definitely better. Candlelight does really help with the mood, he has to admit, even if it does smell extremely sweet in here now. At least he found some of Clarke’s favorite scents among all the absurdly named items. He wonders if maybe he _should_ have gotten those rose petals to scatter over the bed, but—no. Too much. 

Besides, Clarke appreciates chocolate more than flowers, and that’s fine by him. The boxes of Godiva are perched on her dresser, neatly wrapped in colorful bows. 

He does wish he could see her face when she walks in downstairs to the bouquet of tulips bound and waiting on the side table, how her lips will twitch in a curious smile as she reads the note hidden between the petals. He'd purposely left it in plain sight, taking full advantage of the empty house.

As soon as he'd found out Raven would be away for the weekend, helping middleschoolers build robots for a tournament—at least, that’s what he’d gotten from her excited rambling— he'd decided it would be the perfect opportunity to surprise Clarke, when they both weren't in a rush for once.

The alarm on his phone goes off ten minutes before six. Clarke will be coming home soon. He puts the finishing touches on the candles, checks that his shirt is buttoned properly and none of the curtains are in danger of burning, then settles down to wait on her bed.

What he isn’t expecting is for her to return with Wells in tow, complaining about his new crush and how hopelessly in love he is while she offers sympathies.

“Fuck.” Bellamy panics and looks around at the room hopelessly. There’s no time to cover this up. So he grabs his phone and sends her a frantic text, surprise be damned. 

_Don’t let him upstairs._

Then, with his ear pressed to the door like the world’s biggest loser, he strains to hear their conversation. Wells points out the tulips with barely concealed intrigue, but Clarke is silent for a minute. Bellamy waits with baited breath.

“From mom,” she says finally, and he sighs in relief. “She’s always saying we need some real vegetation in this place. Anyways, what were you saying about Maya?”

She lets him chatter on while she runs water in the sink, presumably to fill a jar or vase and set the flowers up somewhere. Damn, he wishes he could see her face right now. He hopes she’s blushing even a little.

“Hey, didn’t I leave that ethics book here last weekend? Maya's going to want it back.” Wells says suddenly, sounding too close to the stairs. Bellamy straightens, his chest constricting. As soon as he hears footsteps, he rushes around as quietly as he can, thankful for his socks on the carpet while he tries to blow out a few candles and drink the wine from each glass on the dresser.

Clarke’s hasty shout rings out. “Wait! I’ll grab it!" Her voice gets closer as she —hopefully— stops Wells on the stairs. "My room is a disaster, seriously, you’ll never find it. Just hang out downstairs, I’ll be right back.”

Bellamy hears one set of footsteps retreat, and one get closer. Not sure he can handle facing this failure right now, he just dives under the covers. Clarke enters the room and quickly shuts the door behind her. With one eye cracked open, he catches her shock, her delight, and then her pure glee as she spots him hiding. Slipping right under the covers with him, she yanks his head up for a dizzying kiss, scratching her nails along the base of his neck in that way that always makes him groan and clutch her harder.

“I’m getting rid of him in a few minutes. Hang in there,” she whispers, and kisses him again fiercely before grabbing the book and running back out. 

As usual, Clarke keeps her word, and she’s kicking Wells out with a hasty excuse about finishing case paperwork just six minutes later. Bellamy’s still facedown atop her pillow when she pads inside the room, a gorgeous smile blooming on her features as her eyes drift over his meticulous planning gone awry.

The bed shifts as she crawls on again, her head settling beside his. “You did all this for me?”

“Actually I was hoping Wells would come in first.”

 _”Bellamy.”_ She shoves his shoulder, but she’s smiling when he grabs her hand and pulls her atop him.

“Of course it’s for you,” he murmurs.

“Why?” 

Bellamy smiles slightly. “Two months.”

Her eyes widen, darting to the calendar above her desk and then back to him. “That’s tomorrow,” she replies.

“You have night shift. Figured you’d be passed out all day. So…” he gestures lamely. “Voila.”

Beaming, Clarke pulls him close again, and he winds his arms around her and sighs into her mouth as they kiss languidly. 

“It’s just two months,” she says when they part, but he shakes his head.

“Not _just._ Nothing with you is… _just_ anything, Clarke.”

“No, no, I know,” she says quickly, nuzzling his cheek. “It’s the same for me, you know that. I just meant—” she pauses, biting her lip shyly, then says, “It’s only the beginning.” 

Bellamy feels himself grinning like a fool as he flips them over, lowering her back to the mattress with a deep kiss. “Only the beginning,” he agrees.

 

IV.  
Clarke shoves the door open and flops onto the mattress with a sigh. Not even a soft, clean hotel bed can help her mood. Especially not when it just makes her miss Bellamy even more.

She reaches for her phone, smiling when she sees the thumbs-up emoji he sent hours earlier. Bellamy _never_ uses emojis. Well, he hadn’t until this past week, the first time they’d been apart since the start of their newfound relationship. 

She’s at a medical conference three states over, presenting research findings from a study with other doctors from her clinic. It was a special opportunity, and Clarke hadn’t hesitated to say yes when Jackson had brought it up. Bellamy had even taken her to dinner to celebrate. Neither of them had really considered that a week would feel _this_ long.

But boy did it ever, and here she is on day four missing everything about him. And, yeah, it also sucks that she has to rely on her own hands to get herself off again, but it's so much more than that. 

She misses the easy smile he always greets her with, the one that says, _finally, there you are._ The way he always takes her into his arms without hesitation, even when they’re in the middle of an argument. Falling asleep in those same arms to the sound of his low voice telling her about the latest documentary he's seen or something his students did that day. How his eyes crinkle at the corners when he _really_ laughs at something. The way he always tastes bitter as the black coffee he inhales like oxygen. She misses sharing every moment of this experience with him, not being able to immediately trade smirks or inside jokes or even just sit next to him. She just misses _him._

As if called by her thoughts, her phone buzzes. “Hi,” Clarke answers happily.

“Hey you.” Bellamy sounds worn out, and when she says as much, his laugh warms her to her toes. “Always worrying about me. I’m fine, princess. Just a lot of parent-teacher conferences today. How did your presentation go?”

“Great, actually! We had so many people come up to us afterwards. I have all these business cards now. And I think Jackson may have a date tonight, which is always exciting,” she laughs.

Bellamy chuckles. “Well then the trip was a success on many levels. Congrats, Clarke. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks.” She sighs. “I really miss you.”

“Miss you too, Clarke,” he confesses quietly, and she smiles. They’re silent for a moment, and her eyes have drifted shut when he says, “Hey Clarke?”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking… maybe, after you get back— maybe we can tell the others.”

Her eyes fly open. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy clears his throat nervously. “I mean— only if you’re okay with it, obviously. I don't mind if you’re not. But I just thought… if you’re holding back because of me, I just wanted you to know. I’m ready.”

Clarke smiles so hard she knows her cheeks are going to ache, blinking a few surprising tears away. “I’m ready too.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says firmly.

“Good.” The relief is apparent in his voice. “Okay. So, we’ll tell them. Together.”

“Together,” she agrees, and kicks her legs in the air a bit out of sheer joy. “So what are you up to tonight? Is it still storming there? I heard it was going to get worse tonight and tomorrow.”

Bellamy exhales. “Yeah my drive sucked today. The guys were gonna meet up for a beer but I’m so wiped, I think I’ll just stay in. Find another documentary on Netflix.” She can all but hear him grinning when he adds, “I’ve gotta find new stories to put you to sleep with.”

“Please no more Romans,” she teases, and he chuckles again.

“No promises. So what about you? Got a hot date tonight?”

She chuckles. “Yeah, right. Although, if you count this big, empty queen-size bed…” she trails off, an idea suddenly coming to mind that she’s too shy to voice just yet. But Bellamy doesn’t need to be in the same room to see right through her.

“Sounds like it’d be shame to waste that,” he says conversationally, though the dip in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“It would be,” she replies after a moment. But she doesn't know where to go next. After the silence stretches from heavy to just awkward, it's broken by Bellamy's soft laugh. 

“We’re so bad at this.”

Clarke giggles and presses her face into the pillow. “That was a pretty horrible attempt at seduction,” she agrees. “God, I wish you were here.”

“Me too. I'd at least have you down to your bra and panties by now.” It's meant as a joke, but Clarke feels the mood shift as certainly as if he was here with her.

“Is that a suggestion?” She asks coyly.

Bellamy seems to be speechless for a moment, but he recovers quickly, clearing his throat a few times. “Yeah. It is.” She can just imagine him sitting up straighter in his desk chair, phone clutched tightly in one hand.

“Okay,” she says, swallowing. “But you do the same.” There comes a grunt and hurried shuffling that she takes to mean he's doing as she said while she strips off her own shirt and tosses it to the floor.

“Shirt’s off,” Bellamy says tightly.

“Good. I can't resist your arms,” she sighs without thinking.

Her ears are rewarded by his rich laugh. “Is that so?”

She's saved from answering by the loud knock at the door. One leg dangling out of her pants, she sits up, startled.

“Clarke?” It's Harper. Clarke is suddenly very grateful she chose a single room. Less chance of shared room keys and barging in. Not that she'd exactly planned this scenario. Ever. Thankfully Harper is oblivious to her state. “We’re going to get dinner and spy on Jackson’s date night! Wanna join?”

“I—uh, no, you guys go without me,” she calls, trying to kick off her pants and cursing when they get stuck on one ankle.

“You sure? Dylan told us about a great sushi place nearby.”

“I'm good!” Clarke winces when her voice goes an octave too high. She can tell Harper isn't convinced, so she adds, “I’m still trying to get over that headache I've had all day,” Technically not untrue. They did hear her grumbling about it a few times. "So I think I'm just gonna stay in and rest."

“Is that what they're calling it these days?” Bellamy's cheeky whisper makes her bite down a laugh, hastily turning it into a cough at the last second.

“Aw, that sucks. Feel better!” Harper calls. “We’ll bring you back some dessert!”

“Thanks,” she calls. Into the phone, she hisses, “Don't even say it,” unable to help her grin when Bellamy chortles.

“You know me too well,” he says, and damn if he doesn't sound really proud. Only when she hears the _ding_ of the elevator does she move, hopping around the room to fully yank off her pants. “Tell me what you're doing now.” Bellamy’s voice is ungodly low again. Her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“Shirt and pants are off.” Scrambling for her earbuds, Clarke lays back down on the bed, her body thrumming in anticipation.

“Did you get yourself off last night?”

She shivers. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” he orders roughly.

“I— I was thinking about you. Your hands,” she says, feeling a flush rise on her cheeks.

A harsh sigh reaches her ears. “What about my hands?”

“Your fingers. They’re longer than mine.” Her hands clench and unclench by her sides, determined not to move until he tells her to. “They’re… better.” Understatement of the year, but, she's proud to still be forming sentences, so.

“I’d say yours are pretty great too,” Bellamy murmurs, and she’s unable to bite back her whimper. “Which bra are you wearing?”

“Blue—blue and white stripes.”

He hums his appreciation. “You always look so fucking sexy in that one. Matches your eyes.” She can hear his smile when he says, “You look sexy in everything, Clarke.” 

“Bellamy,” she whines, and he gives in.

“Take off the bra. But don’t touch your nipples yet. Stroke your breasts, slow circles. Pretend it’s my hands on you. You know I like to take my time.” Clarke moans in agreement, following his instructions while squeezing her legs together. “You wet for me, baby?”

“God, yes,” she rasps. “Bellamy, are your pants off?”

She hears a slight shuffle, and then, “Yes.”

“Stroke yourself through your briefs. Slow. Twist your hand, like I do.”

Bellamy curses lowly, his heavy panting telling her he’s getting just as worked up. Just as she’s about to open her mouth again though, she hears a commotion on his end. This time when he swears, he sounds like he's moving.

“Bell?” She asks, pausing her motions. 

His answer is a strained yell not meant for her. “Go without me, guys. I— I have an online seminar tonight!” 

Clarke nearly laughs at the intrusion. “Is that what they're calling it these days?” She smirks at his failed attempt to hide a laugh.

There’s a pause, another yell, and then, “Yes, dammit, I’m sure. I don’t want wings.” She giggles, biting her lip hard until his voice filters through again. “Sorry, sorry. Fucking Wick almost barged in when I had my dick out.”

“Tell him your dick is _mine,”_ she replies, and this time his laughter echoes loud and rich.

“As much as I’d love to, I don’t want to talk about Wick right now.” His voice turns husky again. “Keep going, Clarke. You want more, don’t you? Pinch your nipples.” She shudders, the ache in her body becoming nearly unbearable. “That feel good?”

“So good,” she moans. “Bellamy, I need—”

“I know, I know.” He sounds like he’s already at the edge of his control again. After a few breaths, he says, “Take off your underwear. Put two fingers in, I know you can.” Her body is hot all over. He waits until her gasps of gratitude echo. “Better?”

“So much better. Take your cock out again,” she says desperately. “I wish I was there to clean it up.”

His moan is downright filthy, and her back arches. “Add a third finger, Clarke, come on,” he urges. “Ride your hand like it’s mine.”

Her brain seems to short-circuit, and she closes her eyes and moves her hand faster, circling her hips. With Bellamy whispering encouragement in her ear, she can almost pretend he’s there with her, the rasp of his stubble against her ear and the weight of his hand between her legs.

“Bell, are you—”

“Yeah. Keep going, Clarke, I wanna hear you come.”

That’s all it takes for the pleasure to explode. Clarke spasms around her fingers, keening incoherently as she comes and trying to draw it out like he always does. Bellamy’s panting increases until he all but growls and chokes off her name, and finally she lets her fingers relax, sinking back against the covers.

“Well,” she says when she has a voice again, “I can cross that off my bucket list.”

Bellamy chuckles, though he still sounds as wrecked as she feels. “You _would_ have phone sex on your bucket list.”

“Like you’re surprised.” She smiles to herself when he laughs again, curling up and basking in the sound. “Can’t wait to see you, Bell,” she murmurs.

“Me too, baby. Two more days, right?”

“Two and a half,” she yawns. “Fucking flight.”

“Two and a half, then. I have to work that morning, though, so I might not make it to the airport in time—”

“Jackson’s driving us home, don’t worry about it. Just be there when we get back.”

“I’ll always be here, Clarke,” he says softly, and she falls asleep smiling.

 

V.  
Clarke cranes her neck from the backseat, trying to look around Jackson. “Can’t you go around them?” She pleads.

“Where? The sidewalk?” He looks at her in the mirror. “I know you’re anxious to get back, even though nobody knows why—”

“Or _who,”_ Harper cuts in slyly.

She flushes and sits back, crossing her arms and grumbling under her breath. The traffic jam in front of them seems like it’s never going to let up. It had been smooth sailing when they left the airport an hour ago, and she’d been texting Bellamy progress updates the whole time, fairly bouncing in her seat.

Until they got to Madison Circle, where an accident had blocked the left two lanes and left everyone to try to crawl through, single file. And they’ve been sitting here since.

She checks the GPS on her phone again, trying to find an alternate route home. Her phone buzzes again. Bellamy.

_Do I need to send a chopper?_

Clarke snorts. _the limo will do._

Letting her head thud back against the seat, she closes her eyes and lets the car horns and brakes fade, thinking instead about Bellamy’s arms surrounding her comfortingly tight when she finally sees him again. She doesn’t know when she drifts off, only that when she wakes they’re flying along the highway again. Harper’s slumped against the opposite window, her soft snores filling the car, and Jackson’s singing along to the radio under his breath. Clarke grins and looks out the window.

Soon enough the familiar houses and shops of their small town come into view. Clarke sits up eagerly, barely waiting for the car to come to a full stop before shouting thanks to Jackson and hopping out. Grabbing her duffel bag from the trunk, she dashes up the front steps. It takes three tries to fit her key into the lock, but as soon as she pushes inside Bellamy’s there waiting, his features transformed by unbridled joy.

Dropping her bags, Clarke launches herself at him without a second thought. Bellamy stumbles, gasping a little even as his hands fly to her waist to steady her. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he wraps his arms around her, burying his face against her neck with a contented sigh. She hugs him harder, trying to mold their bodies into one.

“I missed you,” she says, and the way he tightens his grip tighten and lifts her to her toes makes her smile and repeat it, laying kisses to any part of him she can reach. 

Finally he says, “I missed you too,” and his voice is so full of love that she can’t do anything but kiss him soundly, sweetly.

An expectant cough makes them both jump and pull apart, though Bellamy doesn’t let her out of the circle of his arms even as they turn. Dazed, Clarke finds several amused and excited faces staring back.

Bellamy huffs out a laugh against her hair. “Did I mention there was a surprise party?”

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Clarke presses her face into his shirt, feeling his chest rumble in a laugh again. “Well I guess that covers telling them,” she mumbles.

After Octavia has squeezed all the air out of them in a gasping hug, she punches Bellamy’s shoulder. “How long?”

 _Two months, 17 days, and 14 hours,_ Clarke thinks happily, then turns bright red when she realizes she said it aloud, turning her face back into Bellamy’s shirt as he laughs and hugs her closer.

“You know, I’m actually impressed,” Raven says, a catlike smile curling her lips.

Grinning sheepishly, Clarke links her arms around Bellamy’s torso. “You didn’t make it easy.”

“I would certainly hope not.” Raven turns to Jasper and holds out her hand. “Well?”

“Hey, hang on,” he protests, “you didn’t specify _how long_ they were in a secret relationship.”

“Really, Jasper? You think you can get out of paying me over semantics?”

Monty taps his shoulder. “I believe you owe me too, since I had _fooling around.”_ He glances at them after a second. “No offense.”

“Now wait a second…” Octavia jumps in, and within minutes they’re all gesturing and arguing, while Clarke and Bellamy trade raised eyebrows, apparently forgotten.

Bellamy leans down, his teeth toying with her earlobe. “I bet we can sneak in a quickie before they settle their bet.”

Clarke grins and winks. “I bet we can sneak in two.”


End file.
